Page 35 of Grim

But the Reaper recovered fast. Too fast.

He drove a fist into Grim’s side, right into the kidney. Grim dropped to one knee, breath punched out of him.

“Grim,” Sophia gasped. The Reaper bolted.

Grim surged to his feet, fury igniting like gasoline. He took off after the man, every muscle in his body screaming to chase, to hunt, to destroy.

He was terrifying. A force of violence barely contained. Sophia’s heart hammered—but she wasn’t scared of him. Not even a little.

“Grim!” she called.

He didn’t stop.

“Maddox!”

He stopped mid-stride, like someone had cut the power. His whole body locked tight, chest heaving, breath ragged, fists clenched so hard his knuckles blanched. He turned slowly, eyes wild, burning, the kind of heat that didn’t fade just because he’d gone motionless.

Sophia stepped toward him, reaching out.

Her hand brushed his arm.

Just a touch. He stopped shaking. Just like that.

She swallowed. “Will you take me home?”

His jaw flexed. He nodded once. “Yeah.”

They got into her car. Grim drove, one hand on the wheel, the other pressed against his side where the Reaper had hit him. Sophia watched him from the corner of her eye, how tense he was, how angry, how controlled he forced himself to be.

When they pulled into her driveway, Grim didn’t let her out until he’d scanned the entire street. Then he walked the perimeter of her house, checking windows, doors, shadows, the tree line.

Only when he was satisfied did he come inside.

Sophia made coffee while he locked the door behind them. The house felt warm, safe, familiar. She moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling out cinnamon sticks, piloncillo, and coffee grounds.

Grim watched her, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Café de olla,” she said. “My mom used to make it when I was growing up.”

He grunted like he didn’t care. He cared.

She poured two mugs and set one in front of him. He took a sip, face unreadable.

“You hate it?” she teased.

“No.”

“You love it.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. She watched him drink it—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring it even though he’d never admit it. Something warm curled low in her stomach.

He looked good in her kitchen. Too good.

She cleared her throat. “I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

He nodded. “I’ll call it in.”